The ingredients for a human life demand a steep price. I spent the afternoon rummaging through the restricted apothecary while muttering vicious curses that would blister the paint off a royal barge. Building a skin suit capable of holding my immense essence requires extreme density.
The surface world demands a structure of calcified rigidity to survive the crushing absence of oceanic weight. I tossed a pufferfish spleen into the stone mortar, adding the crushed scales of a blind trench-dweller alongside a vial of venom extracted from a lionfish spine. The mortar itself possessed a history written in blood and crushed pearls, carved from the volcanic rock of a sunken caldera. I began to grind the bone. The heavy pestle scraped against the bowl, releasing a pungent cloud of sulfur and preserved marrow that stung my eyes with the taste of ancient sediment.
The magic of transfiguration demands a biological anchor to keep the spell from unraveling in the dry air. I worked the pestle in a rhythmicly punishing circle, forcing the disparate elements to bind together under the sheer force of my will. The potion hissed and bubbled with a violent energy, protesting the unnatural amalgamation.
“Narissa,” I whispered into the damp cavern, testing the name on my tongue.
I resisted the idea of using her because Narissa represented the nuclear option. Wearing her skin meant submitting myself to the horrific claustrophobia of the dry world, requiring the compression of my magnificent bulk into a corseted frame the humans found attractive.
The biological transfiguration would be agony. Creating the legs involves snapping my lower appendages and fusing the cartilage into rigid pillars of bone. Walking on articulated limbs requires an exhausting battle against gravity. Lungs feel like burning sacks of acid to a creature born to breathe the freezing currents of the Trench. Every inhalation of the thin surface air burns the throat and denies the body the comforting weight of the crushing depths.
“Mistress,” Dot hissed from the arched entryway of the laboratory.
“The sun is setting.”
“The evening tide turns,” Speckle added while coiling her tentacles around a jagged stalagmite.
I dusted the iridescent powder from my hands and moved away from the worktable toward the viewing pool in the center of the cavern. The water rested flat and dark like a sheet of polished obsidian. The Trench hummed with ambient magic, serving as a sanctuary of cold pressure and absolute control. I waved my hand over the water. The dormant bioluminescence flared from the depths, parting the milky clouds of sediment to reveal a sprawling palace promenade.
Devan walked beside Avis. The palace staff had aggressively scrubbed the brine from her thick hair, strapping her into a dress of stiff silk. It was a restrictive garment that left her radiating nobility. The heavy sleeves swallowed her shoulders while the tight bodice forced her extra flaps into a reasonable cleavage.
Avis smiled at the prince and batted her eyelashes with theatrical exaggeration. She clearly interpreted this evening excursion as a romantic gesture as she strutted on wobbly legs. Every step looked like a newborn foal attempting to navigate a frozen lake. Her knees locked at odd angles. Her ankles rolled against the unforgiving stone floor because she lacked the fundamental muscle memory required for graceful ambulation. Walking requires a subconscious understanding of momentum and balance that she entirely lacked. She fought a constant, losing war against her own center of gravity, swaying precariously with every forward motion.
The crowds in the hallway parted for the royal couple. Aristocrats bowed and curtsied in a wave of rustling fabric. Avis mirrored their movements with a jerky dip of her knees, lacking all contextual understanding of the social hierarchy. She possessed zero concept of a curtsy or a bow, simply mimicking the behavior of the prey moving around her. To her, the courtiers were merely a strange school of brightly colored fish displaying submission to a larger predator. She bobbed her head and flashed her teeth in a bizarre display of aggressive compliance.
Devan carried himself with the rigid pride of a man eager to show off his domain, remaining completely oblivious to her internal terror. He enjoyed the envious stares of his peers, entirely missing the darting movements of her eyes. He led her through a set of imposing gilded doors. They stepped out of the drafty corridor and into a massive glass pavilion.
Avis relaxed her shoulders instantly. She sensed the heavy moisture clinging to the indoor air and breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the humid scent of filtered salt and damp stone. She stepped deeper into the hall with a genuine flutter of hope, believing he had brought her to a sheltered cove where she could finally soothe her aching skin. She thought the Prince finally understood her desperate need to return to the water.
Then her eyes adjusted to the artificial shadows.
Devan stopped in the center of the room and swept his arm toward the glowing exhibits lining the curved walls.
“Welcome to the Grand Aquarium,” Devan announced, his voice echoing off the polished marble floors. “It represents the absolute pinnacle of our modern engineering. We brought the wonders of the deep directly into the palace for everyone to admire.”
Massive tanks dominated the architecture. Hundreds of captive fish swam in endless, maddening circles behind reinforced glass. The enclosures featured pathetic displays of artificial coral and painted rocks, mocking the vibrant reality of the ocean floor.
The tanks served as a living exhibition for the breathing nobility. Groups of men in tailored coats pointed walking sticks at the trapped predators while women in restrictive gowns tapped their fingernails against the glass to demand a reaction from the exhausted animals. The ambient noise of the pavilion consisted of clinking wine glasses and the dull hum of water pumps attempting to simulate a natural current. The entire structure reeked of human hubris and a deep disrespect for the sacred balance of the sea.
“Oh,” I whispered into the darkness of the Trench, feeling a rare pang of genuine disgust. “He took the Princess of the sea to a fish prison.”
Avis stopped walking as her hopeful expression dissolved into pure horror. She ignored the Prince completely and stepped slowly toward a display of tropical angelfish. The delicate creatures bumped their snouts against the transparent barrier in a lethargic rhythm. Their scales lacked the vibrant luster of the open reef because the confined environment had drained their color. They swam through the sterile water with the aimless drift of the dying. They were ghosts haunting a watery cage built for human amusement.
Avis pressed her bare palms against the glass, the cold surface sending a visible shiver through her frame. She pressed her face to the tank and opened her mouth to project a royal command to the fish. She attempted to summon a specific frequency of authority to organize the chaotic school, wanting to sing a song of comfort and rallying strength.
She needed to tell them their Princess had arrived to bring them home.
She produced only a wet hiss from her lips.
The angelfish ignored her silent plea and continued their circular march through the artificial currents. Avis slammed her fists against the enclosure in frustration, the muted thuds failing to draw the attention of the dying fish. She pounded the glass with growing desperation, refusing to accept the reality of her severed connection to her people.
Devan noticed her sudden distress. He walked up behind her and reached out to touch her shoulder.
“Miss, please step back,” Devan instructed gently. “The glass is quite thick, but we must maintain strict decorum in the pavilion.”
Avis spun around and shoved him squarely in the chest. The Prince of the realm stumbled backward and crashed into a velvet rope. The surrounding courtiers gasped in unison, causing the music from a nearby string quartet to screech to a halt. Avis ignored the collective shock, transforming instantly into a feral sovereign defending her subjects. The terrified girl vanished as the apex predator of the ocean emerged to reclaim her stolen territory.
She marched directly past the fallen prince toward the largest exhibit in the hall. This central tank held a captive reef shark pacing the length of its cell with agitated aggression. The shark bumped its nose against the corners of the enclosure seeking an exit that didn't exist. The majestic beast had been reduced to a carnival sideshow for gawking aristocrats who knew nothing of the lethal grace it possessed in the open water.
Avis climbed onto the marble viewing bench and kicked at the glass with her satin heel. The stiff silk of her dress ripped along the seam, exposing her pale thigh. She ignored the tearing fabric entirely and hammered her bare fists against the enclosure, pounding the glass until her knuckles bruised.
“She thinks she can break it,” Dot hissed from the shadows of my laboratory.
“She possesses zero concept of structural barriers,” I replied while watching the disaster unfold. “This idiot expects the water to yield, as if the world will move out of her way because the ocean has always provided her a path.”
Avis realized her fists were useless against the surface engineering and frantically scanned the immediate area. She spotted a solid brass stanchion holding the velvet crowd-control rope. She leaped off the bench and lunged for the heavy pole, lifting the solid metal with desperate strength fueled by pure adrenaline.
“Guards!” Devan shouted as he scrambled to his feet. “Seize her before she shatters the wall!”
Avis swung the pole like a harpoon and struck the dead center of the tank. A deafening crack echoed through the pavilion. A web of white fissures splintered across the surface of the enclosure. The courtiers shrieked and scattered in absolute terror toward the gilded exits, abandoning their wine glasses and their dignity as they fled the impending deluge. Avis planted her feet and swung the heavy brass again with devastating force.
The glass shattered.
Thousands of gallons of pressurized water erupted into the pavilion. The tidal wave blasted outward with an explosive violence, knocking Devan off his feet and sending him tumbling across the floor. A wall of water swept two armored guards into a wooden souvenir cart, smashing the display into kindling. A destructive torrent carrying debris of artificial coral and painted rocks washed over and flooded the marble floors.
The poor shark rode the wave out of the enclosure and flopped onto the wet stone floor. It thrashed wildly in the shallow runoff, its gills flaring in panic as they sucked in dry air. Its jaws snapped aggressively at the empty space, biting at the invisible enemy that had stolen its buoyancy. The creature battered its muscular body against the polished marble, fighting a losing battle against suffocation and gravity.
Avis refused to run from the destruction. She dropped the heavy pole and dove directly into the receding puddle. She grabbed the predator by the tail, desperately trying to drag the heavy beast toward the main exit to return it to the ocean. She grunted with the immense physical exertion while the wet silk of her ruined dress clung to her legs, restricting her movements. She hauled the massive weight inch by inch across the slick marble, determined to save at least one subject from the cruelty of the surface dwellers.
The shark felt the unnatural grip on its tail and twisted its muscular body with terrifying speed. It snapped its jaws in a blind panic and clamped down. The razor-sharp teeth tore through the fabric of her sleeve and sliced deep into her forearm.
Avis recoiled in absolute shock, releasing the tail immediately, clutching her bleeding arm. She stared at the thrashing animal with uncomprehending eyes. The physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional devastation because she couldn't understand the biological betrayal. She was their Princess who held the Divine Right of the Deep. A subject should never bite royalty. The shark recognized a threat, not the crown.
Devan crawled out of the wreckage. He was soaked to the bone with blood trickling down his cheek from a fresh cut on his forehead. He surveyed the utter ruin of his prized attraction and looked at the dying shark thrashing among the broken glass before locking eyes with the bleeding girl sitting in a puddle of muddy water. The illusion of the shipwreck survivor had shattered alongside the aquarium glass.
“Restrain her!” Devan commanded, his voice shaking with a potent mixture of fear and absolute disbelief.
The recovering guards lunged forward through the ankle-deep water, seizing her arms. They struggled to pin down her thrashing limbs as she fought them like a cornered predator. The soldiers abandoned all pretense of royal courtesy, wrestling her roughly to the marble floor and dragging her away from the dying fish. Avis snapped her teeth and clawed desperately at the wet stone, fighting with feral panic as they hauled her toward the exit. She kicked and twisted in their grip, a wild creature refusing to be caged by the men who had imprisoned her ocean.
The horrific show went dark as I severed the magical connection. The image of the struggling girl vanished into the milky depths of the pool.
I stood in the silence of the Trench. The ambient heat of the bioluminescence faded into a cold blue glow.
“He hates her,” Speckle said
“He is afraid of her,” Dot added
“He thinks she is feral,” I said to my redpussies. “He is entirely correct. She lacks basic grace. She possesses zero understanding of the world she demanded to conquer.”
I walked back to my stone worktable and looked at the mortar and pestle resting on the slate surface. My strategy to wait out the contract was dead. The idea that Avis could seduce the Prince through sheer aesthetic beauty was laughable. She was a walking disaster of biological confusion. That man was going to lock her in a sanitarium before the next sunrise. He would label her a violent lunatic and medicate her. Doctors would hide her away in a dark room and try to forget the girl who destroyed his aquarium.
I picked up the heavy pestle.
“I have to go up there,” I said, my voice carrying a resentful resignation.
“You, Mistress?” Dot asked from the floor.
“Me,” I confirmed. “I must show Avis how to be the catch of the day. I must teach her how to survive the dry hell she begged for.”
I began to grind the remaining ingredients with violent vigor, letting the rhythmic sound of crushing bone fill the cavern. I poured the crushed spleen and venom into a waiting cauldron. The mixture boiled instantly, sending a plume of acrid green smoke toward the ceiling. The transfiguration matrix required immense power to initiate the physical binding. I needed to construct the corseted skeleton. I needed to forge the vocal cords that would allow Narissa to speak with terrifying clarity. The magic demanded focus and absolute cruelty to succeed.
“Prepare the transfiguration spell,” I ordered the octopi. “We need the glass bottle. We need the voice.”
“You will take it?” Speckle asked, slithering closer to the worktable.
“I will borrow it,” I corrected, pausing my grinding as I looked at the high shelf holding my prized collections. The small glass vial pulsed with an iridescent glow, holding the stolen song of the foolish princess.
I looked back at the darkened pool, imagining the horrified expression permanently covering the Prince’s face.
“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” I whispered to the water. “Her etiquette coach is en route.”
What a stupid girl.